Scraped Knees
by pinkcactusx
Summary: WARNING: this story is going to deal with a lot of sensitive issues. If this is not in your interests, I kindly ask you to read another story as this one is not for you. A collection of drabbles about broken people.
1. Scraped Knees

WARNING: this story is going to deal with a lot of sensitive issues. If this is not in your interests, I kindly ask you to read another story as this one is not for you. I will list trigger warnings before chapters to let the readers know. Again, this is a dark story that involves a plethora of sensitive topics, please take heed. Stephanie Meyers own the Twilight Universe and all its characters.

**TRIGGER WARNING- SELF HARM**

scrape (skrāp) v. scraped, scrap·ing, scrapes . 1. To remove (an outer layer, for example) from a surface by forceful strokes of an edged or rough instrument

**BELLA**

When I was younger I was fond of scraped knees, mine in particular. Being a clumsy kid it was bound to happen all the time- narrow stairs, slick ice on rough pavement, an occasional slip onto hard cement, a scrape or a bruise here and there. It was normal, for someone like me-clumsy, blundering Bella. As I grow older the sting of a new scrape grew addicting, the ice hot pain that jolted through my body enticed me- the slight burn of opened skin made me feel something, as opposed to the nothingness that often consumed me. Over time- scraped knees became scraped arms- soon after scraped thighs, scraped stomach, scraped legs… a flawed, scraped Bella.

I picked at the bandages on my arms on the way to the hospital, Charlie liked to call it an Institution- a place where I could get better, become whole again, and deep down- a place where he doesn't have to deal with me anymore. Charlie was scraped too, over time. He was the susceptible, soft surface who was forced to bear witness to how I grinded myself down into a stub with my actions, my thoughts, my pain, of course he was the one to find me in the bathtub, just in the knick of time. Scraped.

Growing up I was mostly alone, Charlie was at work most of the time and I was just left to myself. My mother had run off when I was young and left Charlie and I to start our own family. At school it was the same way as well, most of my classmates formed friendships and groups without me, as I always in the background, just out of sight, almost like I didn't exist.

It was in eighth grade when the scraping happened, the rough, burning sensation that ignited my fires. One day in the bathroom I was washing my hands, turning the soap over and over, forming tiny bubbles when a hand reaching for the soap dispenser disrupted my thoughts. A slender, pale white hand. As the hand went to pump the soap out of the dispenser her sleeve lifted up just a little, a thin, angry lines peered out at me, rough, jagged array of scratches, scrapes.

I gasped at the sight of it, and looked at the girl in a mix between horror and curiosity. Of course the now red-faced girl bumbled out of the bathroom with soap bubbles still in her hands after my reaction, but I wanted to let her know that it was ok, that I understood her. Seeing what I saw, I knew what was missing in my life, the release, the alleviation of pain. And from there- it spiraled.

Until the day of the bathtub. Where poor Charlie had to fish me out with tears streaming down his face, my heart still breaks recalling the memory. It wasn't about hurting him- something I would never want- it was about freedom, freedom from the scraping, freedom from the loneliness, just freedom. It was right after a particularly hard day of high school- the kind where you just wanted to go home and rest. I suppose I'm lucky Charlie decided to leave work early on that exact day-I still have no idea how he was able to get me to the hospital that fast. Since then the both of us, including some doctors, decided that a mental health institution would be the best option for me. They assured me that I would be around people my age, and that there I could seek the treatment that I needed.

I understood that I was unwell. I understood that I needed help. Glanced up at the rear view mirror and locked eyes with my father for the last time in a long time as we pulled up to the gates.

My new home.


	2. Metamorphosis

WARNING: this story is going to deal with a lot of sensitive issues. If this is not in your interests, I kindly ask you to read another story as this one is not for you. I will list trigger warnings before chapters to let the readers know. Again, this is a dark story that involves a plethora of sensitive topics, please take heed. Stephanie Meyers own the Twilight Universe and all its characters.

**TRIGGER WARNING- SELF HARM, ABUSE**

Metamorphosis: met·a·mor·pho·sis/ˌmedəˈmôrfəsəs/ _noun _the process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form in two or more distinct stages.

**ALICE**

_The pretty brown eyed girl had bandages on her arms. _My eyes flickered over her arms wrapped in stuff that looked like white cotton candy. I love cotton candy, even when I was younger. My mommy used to buy me cotton candy to eat whenever her boyfriend came over the house. I used to imagine that I was eating heaven's clouds, it was soft, like unicorn fur. I love Unicorns. I had a t shirt with one on them before I came to this hotel.

The hotel is fun, I have made friends here, once in awhile a big scary doctor comes into my room and says big words. He always asks me how old I am, I always say I'm 19! I'm a big girl. For some reason he looks hesitant when I say that, I don't understand. Is it because of the bugs?

The bugs started when mommy's boyfriend came over. He would grab me too hard when she was at work, and the blues and purples would sprout on my skin. Like the wings of a butterfly. I liked thinking I was a butterfly, they're pretty, and delicate. I didn't like it when they were trapped though. I hated feeling them crawl and dance over my skin, I would see them, their tiny little bodies moving underneath the cramped surface of my arms. It wasn't fair that they were trapped. I began to free them.

They began telling me secrets. The freed butterflies, I loved to talk to them. I would tell them all about how mean my mommy's boyfriend was, and how much I hated him. I got in big trouble when Mommy found out.

She caught me whispering to my butterflies in my room one day. I had just freed some more when she walked in, I guess the butterflies scared her because she screamed really loud, and I ended up here, once in a while I still see the writhing bodies under my skin, but I'm not allowed to let them go anymore.

But the girl had cotton candy on her arms, did she know the butterflies? I danced over to her, my new friend.

"Hi! My name is Alice, do you have bugs under your skin too?" I asked, I have always been a curious cat.

"What?" the girl's brown eyes widened, "bugs?"

I couldn't believe that she was lying about them! Why didn't she know about the bugs? The bandages kept them at bay.

"Liar Liar pants in the dryer, what's your name anyways?" I chirped, I liked the way she smelt, like cotton candy. I miss cotton candy.

"Bella, I just got here" the brown eyed girl said, she looked sad, why would she be sad here? The hotel with lots of friends? I heard her gasp as I hugged her tightly,

"My baby Bella with the cotton candy arms! I will be your new friend. I love you already"

Bella loved startled, it's ok though, I'll introduce her to my friends. Bella will be happy here.


End file.
